A Betty Neels Christmas (A Christmas Proposal; Winter Wedding

172 Pages·2002·0.96 MB·English

by  Neels Betty

A Betty Neels Christmas
During this season of giving, Bertha and Emily are about to receive the greatest
gift of their lives…love.
And they will discover that Christmas wishes do come true, and “handsome
princes” do indeed exist.
A Betty Neels Christmas
BETTY NEELS
Romance readers around the world will be sad to note the passing of Betty Neels
in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years and she continued to write into her
ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and
yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her
inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard
a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s
first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she
eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was
very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she
will be greatly missed. Her spirit will live on in all her stories, including those
yet to be published.
CONTENTS
A CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
WINTER WEDDING
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
A CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL
CHAPTER ONE
T girl standing in a corner of the crowded room hardly merited a second
HE
glance; she was small, with light brown hair strained back into an unfashionable
bun, a face whose snub nose and wide mouth did nothing to redeem its
insignificance, and she was wearing an elaborate shrimp-pink dress. But after his
first glance the man standing across the room from her looked again. Presently
he strolled over to stand beside her. His ‘Hello’ was pleasant and she turned her
head to look at him.
She answered him politely, studying him from large brown eyes fringed by
curling lashes. Looking at her eyes, he reflected that one soon forgot the nose
and mouth and dragged-back hair. He smiled down at her. ‘Do you know anyone
here? I came with friends—I’m staying with them and was asked to come along
with them. A birthday party, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ She looked past him to the crowded room, the groups of laughing,
gossiping people waving to each other with drinks in their hands, the few
couples dancing in the centre. ‘Would you like me to introduce you to
someone?’
He said in his friendly way, ‘You know everyone here? Is it your birthday?’
‘Yes.’ She gave him a quick surprised look and bent her head to examine the
beaded bodice of her dress.
‘Then shouldn’t you be the belle of the ball?’
‘Oh, it’s not my party. It’s my stepsister’s—that pretty girl over by the
buffet. Would you like to meet Clare?’
‘The competition appears too keen at the moment,’ he said easily. ‘Shouldn’t
you be sharing the party, since it’s your birthday too?’
‘Well, no.’ She had a pretty voice and she spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I’m sure
you’d like to meet some of the guests. I don’t know your name…’
‘Forgive me. Hay-Smythe—Oliver.’
‘Bertha Soames.’ She put out a small hand and he shook it gently.
‘I really don’t want to meet anyone. I think that perhaps I’m a little on the
old side for them.’
She scrutinised him gravely—a very tall, strongly built man, with fair hair
thickly sprinkled with grey. His eyes were grey too, and he had the kind of good
looks which matched his assured air.
‘I don’t think you’re in the least elderly,’ she told him.
‘I don’t think you’re in the least elderly,’ she told him.
He thanked her gravely and added, ‘Do you not dance?’
‘Oh, I love to dance.’ She smiled widely at him, but as quickly the smile
faded. ‘I—that is, my stepmother asked me to see that everyone was enjoying
themselves. That’s why I’m standing here—if I see anyone on their own I make
sure that they’ve got a drink and meet someone. I really think that you should…’
‘Definitely not, Miss Soames.’ He glanced down at her and thought how out
of place she looked in the noisy room. And why, if it was her birthday, was she
not wearing a pretty dress and not that ill-fitting, over-elaborate garment? ‘Are
you hungry?’
‘Me? Hungry?’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, I missed lunch.’ Her eyes
strayed to the buffet, where a number of people were helping themselves
lavishly to the dainties upon it. ‘Why don’t you…?’
Dr Hay-Smythe, hard-working in his profession and already respected by
older colleagues, a man who would never pass a stray kitten or a lost dog and
who went out of his way to make life easy for anyone in trouble, said now, ‘I’m
hungry too. Supposing we were to slip away and have a meal somewhere? I
don’t imagine we should be missed, and we could be back long before this
finishes.’
She stared at him. ‘You mean go somewhere outside? But there isn’t a café
anywhere near here—besides…’
‘Even Belgravia must have its pubs. Anyway, I’ve my car outside—we can
look around.’
Her eyes shone. ‘I’d like that. Must I tell my stepmother?’
‘Certainly not. This door behind you—where does it lead? A passage to the
hall? Let us go now.’
‘I’ll have to get my coat,’ said Bertha when they were in the hall. ‘I won’t be
long, but it’s at the top of the house.’
‘Haven’t you a mac somewhere down here?’
‘Yes, but it’s very old…’
His smile reassured her. ‘No one will notice in the pub.’ He reflected that at
least it would conceal that dreadful dress.
So, suitably shrouded, she went out of the house with him, through the
important front door, down the imposing steps and onto the pavement.
‘Just along here,’ said the doctor, gesturing to where a dark grey Rolls-
Royce was parked. He unlocked the door, popped her inside and got in beside
her. As he drove off he asked casually, ‘You live here with your parents?’
‘Yes. Father is a lawyer—he does a lot of work for international companies.
My stepmother prefers to live here in London.’
‘You have a job?’
‘You have a job?’
‘No.’ She turned her head to look out of the window, and he didn’t pursue
the subject but talked idly about this and that as he left the quiet streets with their
stately houses and presently, in a narrow street bustling with people, stopped the
car by an empty meter. ‘Shall we try that pub on the corner?’ he suggested, and
helped her out.
Heads turned as they went in; they made an odd couple—he in black tie and
she in a shabby raincoat—but the landlord waved them to a table in one corner
of the saloon bar and then came over to speak to the doctor.
‘Ain’t seen yer for a while, Doc. Everything OK?’
‘Splendid, thank you, Joe. How is your wife?’
‘Fighting fit, thanks to you. What’ll it be?’ He glanced at Bertha. ‘And the
little lady here? A nice drop of wine for her?’
‘We’re hungry, Joe…’
‘The wife’s just this minute dished up bangers and mash. How about that,
with a drop of old and mild?’
Dr Hay-Smythe raised an eyebrow at Bertha, and when she nodded Joe
hurried away, to return presently with the beer and the wine and, five minutes
later, a laden tray.
The homely fare was well cooked, hot and generous. The pair of them ate
and drank in a friendly silence until the doctor said quietly, ‘Will you tell me
something about yourself?’
‘There’s nothing to tell. Besides, we’re strangers; we’re not likely to meet
again.’ She added soberly, ‘I think I must be a little mad to be doing this.’
‘Well, now, I can’t agree with that. Madness, if at all, lies with people who
go to parties and eat too much and drink too much and don’t enjoy themselves.
Whereas you and I have eaten food we enjoy and are content with each other’s
company.’ He waited while Joe brought the coffee he had ordered. ‘Being
strangers, we can safely talk knowing that whatever we say will certainly be
forgotten.’
‘I’ve never met anyone like you before,’ said Bertha.
‘I’m perfectly normal; there must be thousands exactly like me.’ He smiled a
little. ‘I think that perhaps you haven’t met many people. Do you go out much?
The theatre? Concerts? Sports club? Dancing?’
Bertha shook her head. ‘Well, no. I do go shopping, and I take my
stepmother’s dog out and help when people come for tea or dinner. That kind of
thing.’
‘And your sister?’ He saw her quick look. ‘Stepsister Clare—has she a job?’
‘No—she’s very popular, you see, and she goes out a great deal and has lots
of friends. She’s pretty—you must have seen that…’
of friends. She’s pretty—you must have seen that…’
‘Very pretty,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Why are you unhappy, Bertha? You don’t
mind my calling you Bertha? After all, as you said, we are most unlikely to meet
again. I’m a very good listener. Think of me as an elder brother or, if you prefer,
someone who is going to the other side of the world and never returning.’
She asked, ‘How do you know that I’m unhappy?’
‘If I tell you that I’m a doctor, does that answer your question?’
She smiled her relief. ‘A doctor! Oh, then I could talk to you, couldn’t I?’
His smile reassured her.
‘You see, Father married again—oh, a long time ago, when I was seven
years old. My mother died when I was five, and I suppose he was lonely, so he
married my stepmother.
‘Clare was two years younger than I. She was a lovely little girl and
everyone adored her. I did too. But my stepmother—you see, I’ve always been
plain and dull. I’m sure she tried her best to love me, and it must be my fault,
because I tried to love her, but somehow I couldn’t.
‘She always treated me the same as Clare—we both had pretty dresses and
we had a nice nanny and went to the same school—but even Father could see
that I wasn’t growing up to be a pretty girl like Clare, and my stepmother
persuaded him that it would be better for me to stay at home and learn to be a
good housewife…’
‘Was Clare not a partner in this, too?’
‘Well, no. She has always had lots of friends—I mean, she hadn’t time to be
at home very much. She’s really kind to me.’ She laid a hand on a glimpse of
pink frill which had escaped from the raincoat. ‘She gave me this dress.’
‘You have no money of your own?’
‘No. Mother left me some, but I—I don’t need it, do I?’
The doctor didn’t comment on that. All he said was, ‘There is a simple
solution. You must find a job.’
‘I’d like that, but I’m not trained for anything.’ She added anxiously, ‘I
shouldn’t have said all that to you. Please forget it. I have no right to complain.’
‘Hardly complaining. Do you not feel better for talking about it?’
‘Yes, oh, yes. I do.’ She caught sight of the clock and gave a little gasp.
‘Heavens, we’ve been here for ages…’
‘Plenty of time,’ said the doctor easily. ‘I dare say the party will go on until
midnight.’ He paid the bill and stowed her in the Rolls once more, then drove
her back and went with her into the house. Bertha shed the raincoat in the hall,
smoothed the awful dress and went with him into the vast drawing room. The
first person to see them was her stepmother.
‘Bertha, where have you been? Go at once to the kitchen and tell Cook to